


And From This, I Carved You a New Heart

by JGogoboots



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/pseuds/JGogoboots
Summary: After the fall, Will finds that he can't stop compulsively taking apart cuts of meat and putting them back together in new ways as though he's imagining what his own murder tableaux will eventually look like.





	And From This, I Carved You a New Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a one shot thing I wrote as a submission for Radiance. Didn't get in (I had missed the sign up date back in March so this isn't a surprise honestly haha!) so I'm dropping it here for fun. :) I also wrote an alternate version that takes place in the days leading up to Mizumono so I may put it here as well if you guys are interested.

It started a couple months after the fall. He had been cutting into things, dissecting them to see what would tumble out, watching how the materials fanned out and took new shapes, making morbid creations of nature but never anything quite like the desires he had been suppressing. This was walking right up to the line and brushing a hand against its blushing cheek to feel that it was there but never crashing into its warmth, never taking that final step into the maw. He knew there was no returning once he did, and it was that above all else that scared him.

It was arguable that he had already taken that step. In addition to Dolarhyde, there was Randall Tier to consider. After mounting him like a macabre exhibit, melding the prehistoric muse that had fueled Randall in life with Will’s own design, he had begun to dwell more on what his dark art might look like if he truly joined Hannibal. He began to see future canvases of his own with startling clarity, organs woven together like floral arrangements and arranged in lifeless hands like ghoulish offerings.

But both of these deaths had been necessary. That is what Will has told himself time and time again, repeating it like an internal mantra in the hopes that it would make it true. Something in him kept fighting this inevitability after the cliff descent. He felt that finality would only be truly ushered in when he made that first kill with Hannibal that _wasn’t_ self-defense by any stretch of the imagination, the first carefully plotted stalking and hunting of a mutually chosen prey that would be unmistakable for what it was.  

It was like falling in love. No, Will finally admitted, it _was_ falling in love, both figuratively and literally as they plummeted into the unforgiving mouth of the sea. Like a couple deciding to take the plunge and sacrifice their independence to merge two lives into something both shared and new, except of course their version of this was decidedly different from how it played out in the lives of normal people. Will wasn’t sure what that newness would bring. He couldn’t see through to the bottom. It was just an endless black hole extending through time and space that felt infinite and strange and unpredictable, like Hannibal himself. But he saw Hannibal in that sprawling darkness. Hannibal’s hand reaching up through the viscous black goo, so dark it could be the blood of something mystical, and taking Will’s hand into his own to lead him through the unknown. When that hand appeared in his mind’s eye, Will took it without hesitation, could feel the cool, smoothness of Hannibal’s palm across his own when he snapped back to reality as though the vision were real.

The monster, both that within Hannibal and the budding, primal creature within Will, had become familiar, comfortable and recognizable to him as much as anything in this world. Will could feel how that had changed their relationship. Years ago, he had watched Mason slicing strips of skin from his cheeks with the disturbing nonchalance of someone accustomed to such horrors, regarding it with no more shock or emotion than if it had been a trout Will was gutting after a long day of fishing. At the time, he had told himself it was because he was trying to maintain his cover, told himself that even the subtlest facial twitch of disgust wouldn’t go unnoticed by someone as astute as Hannibal so of course he had to remain placid. And now…well, now he was beyond rationalizing such things. Too much had happened, and it felt foolish to pretend otherwise. Will was here of his own volition. He wanted this, and while part of him was still trying to bury it in some caged recess of his mind, that portion of him was rapidly losing authority.

Will wasn’t sure what he was doing. Perhaps he was testing his limits for stomaching exotic meats. Maybe handling the innards of pigs and cows from the butcher shop was practice to see if he could indulge in Hannibal’s appetite more often without a second thought. Maybe he was searching for a source of inspiration for his own future tableaux.

He had begun to excuse himself during their trips into Camagüey on the pretense of having unspecified errands or just wanting to take a solitary walk. Ordering in broken Spanish, he would buy the strangest cuts of meat that he could find at the butcher shop, mostly pointing at this and that since his limited proficiency didn’t allow for much more than “eso por favor.” Will was enjoying Cuba. The heat and the isolation of their country house had made for a nice backdrop for recovery, and the landscape appealed to Will’s love of the outdoors, albeit in a way that was converse to the brutal cold he had loved in Wolf Trap. If Hannibal noticed Will’s messenger bag bulging with unexplained purchases on their way home, he didn’t say anything about it.

Will laid the cow’s heart on the stainless steel surface of the basement counter and sliced into the left ventricle, cutting a clean, precise line down to the apex to butterfly the heart, pushing the tender meat down to the metal below to reveal the fleshy inside. Making corresponding cuts on the right side, Will opened the heart completely, the cut of beef now splayed out to reveal all. Slowly, the heart began to quiver, almost imperceptible tremors on the edges as Will observed. As the movements became more pronounced, the edges of the heart curled up to meet and become whole again. The seam lined up to fuse back into its original form and began to beat rhythmically, rising and falling from the countertop as it pumped life back into itself.

Stepping back from the counter, Will shut his eyes hard and breathed deeply. Though he wasn’t separated from reality like he had been during the encephalitis, he still found that his visions were so overpowering on occasion that he struggled to gain purchase on solid ground. It was like clawing at something that looked like a sturdy floor only to have it dissolve into liquid in his fingers. His knees would buckle slightly, and his face would begin to sweat. Not the dripping, feverish sweat of before, just a fine sheen that could easily pass for a side-effect of the tropical climate.

Somehow knowing it wasn’t real was no longer enough of a comfort. It just hammered home how far away from normal he was. It had been beyond an empathy disorder for years at this point. It was something else entirely. The gap between him and everyone else felt astoundingly large now, and he feared it would never narrow its gaping jaw to close. The way he saw the world and the ways in which his unique view was manifesting were getting further removed from what was acceptable every day.

This left only Hannibal. It seemed that it was no longer just Hannibal himself who was systematically removing everything from Will’s life that could give him connection outside of Hannibal. Will’s own mind was pushing out everything else too, slowly carving a space where it no longer sounded insane to cross over to Hannibal’s side and share in his artful horror. A space where the truest mutual understanding he had ever come to, the purest bond he had ever formed, was with a man like Hannibal. And he _liked_ it. There was a relief and an unmatched sense of calm from being so thoroughly _seen_ by someone, and where most others found difficulty, a gratingly challenging personality, neuroses, or even worse, a research opportunity waiting to happen, Hannibal found only a beauty he wanted to cultivate. Hannibal didn’t want Will to adapt to the world around him, he wanted the world around him to accept Will for who he was. Will couldn’t help but feel the tender, almost loving side of that, couched in darkness as it was. He wondered if Hannibal felt the same about revealing himself to Will. Will thought about how Hannibal looked the night he found out it had all begun as a lie, a scheme between he and Jack, and felt his chest tighten with remorse. Will was unlikely to ever forget that look of twisted agony on Hannibal’s normally calm countenance. It was burned into his brain like a searing hot brand.

Approaching the counter again, Will picked up the knife and considered what to do next. After a moment, he put the knife back down and fetched his tackle box from his bag on the other side of the room. Attaching some fishing line to a bait hook, he began to sew the heart back together before halting halfway through. Reaching back into the box, he selected two feathers, one blood red and one bright, spring yellow. Will placed them in the middle of the heart, pressing them into the flesh of the organ until the delicate strands of the feathers stuck to the sticky meat, spreading out like dried flowers pressed in-between the pages of a book. Will finished sewing up the heart and wrapped it in wax paper before carrying it up the stairs. He heard sizzling sounds coming from the kitchen; Hannibal would be preparing lunch right about now. Carefully sliding open the glass door leading from the living room to the back porch, Will gently nudged the inquisitive canine noses of their two dogs, Ganymede (Hannibal’s idea of course) and Sadie, away as he closed the door behind him and walked into their back yard.

There was a Ceiba tree on their property that had been severed in half by a particularly fierce strike of lightning during a recent thunderstorm. The wood had begun to rot almost immediately, and the once mighty old tree was now a shell of its former self, split open to expose decaying insides. Will had cleared away the felled part of the tree, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to chop down what remained. It seemed more appropriate to let it slowly return to the Earth on its own terms rather than robbing it of life even further.

There was a large knot on the trunk just below where the lightning had struck, and it stayed undisturbed from the damage, a smooth, almost perfectly circular hollow in the now dying wood. Will carefully unwrapped the beef heart and placed it in the round depression. The top and bottom tips of the heart touched the rim of the knot, but there were gaps around the left and right side due to the shape of the organ. Will walked a few paces away to where a cluster of La Mariposa flowers grew and picked several bundles of the white blossoms before venturing over to a Royal Poinciana tree to pluck groups of the bright red flowers from its branches. He headed back to his display and arranged the flowers in alternating bunches to fill the spaces around the tree’s new heart. 

Will stepped back to admire it and heard the crunch of branches underfoot behind him. Startled, he whipped around to see Hannibal ambling towards him. Will’s pulse picked up, his chest heaving a little as he wondered what Hannibal would make of Will’s strange behavior.

“Sorry, I only came to call you to lunch. I did not mean to alarm you.” Hannibal was as elegant and put together as ever, the sleeves of his cream colored linen button down rolled up to the elbows, hair swept back neatly from his forehead.

“I guess I’m a little jumpy today. What are we having?” Will made no move to close the distance between them, unsure if he wanted to continue to obscure Hannibal’s view of the tree or if he wanted him to see it and give his approval.

“Lamb shanks braised in red wine and fresh rosemary and thyme atop polenta made with roasted garlic and mascarpone,” Hannibal said casually as though it wasn’t miles more elaborate than any dish someone else would concoct for a friend on an average Tuesday afternoon.

Will let out a short, clipped laugh.

“You know, I think I’m severely lacking in reciprocation in this relationship in terms of earning my keep. At least in any way that approaches equal.”

“Trust that you provide me with much in return by simply giving me your company.” Hannibal smiled warmly, and Will trusted it. He trusted it so much it hurt.

Will began to walk away from the tree, gesturing for Hannibal to follow. Hannibal grasped his bicep gently to stop him, and tilted his head in curiosity as he looked at the tree. Hannibal walked closer until he was only a foot or so from the Ceiba.

“You found something in nature that suffered an untimely death and adorned it with a tribute from another stolen life,” Hannibal said nonchalantly without turning to face Will.

Will reluctantly walked back to the tree and stood beside him.

“It’s become…compulsive lately. I haven’t been able to discern what it is I’m trying to accomplish.”

“You are imparting beauty to that which was robbed of its own innate splendor by the unexpected wrath of the ever mercurial weather.” Hannibal regarded Will with an appreciative half smile.

“Flies will start buzzing around the meat. Stray animals will eat the heart. I haven’t constructed anything beautiful here.” Will shook his head.

“On the contrary. You are drawing new life to this tree. Be it from insects or hungry wild creatures, this tree will be visited upon by the thriving forces in nature instead of being ignored as a dying thing of little consequence. It is being properly honored for the powerful force it was in life.”

“I could do better.” Will wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Better in his next…what exactly? Better the next time he dissected and made a monument of a man like Randall Tier? Better the next time he sliced into a man like Francis, equipped to anticipate surprises and avoid injury this time around?

“Mistakes are a necessary stop along the path to perfection, but do not discount your instincts, Will.” Hannibal turned back to the tree and brought a hand to rest around Will’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.

Will found that he wanted to lean into the touch and turn it into a full embrace. Hannibal had been more affectionate with him since their cliff descent, his small touches lingering longer and longer as a hand dropped from Will’s cheek or his arm. Never pushing and prodding and always disappearing just before Will could question it or shift it into territory he now knew was inevitable for them. They had shared nearly everything else and been as intimate as possible in every other way that it felt more like a natural progression than a shocking development when Will considered it.

He felt Hannibal’s hand begin to slip from his shoulder and placed his own hand over it before it could leave completely. Will curled his fingers around Hannibal’s and turned to smile at him. Hannibal returned the smile, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Will’s and pleased with the affection he saw reflected back in them. He tightened his grip on Will’s shoulder. 

“Lunch will be getting cold soon. We should go back to the house.” Hannibal regarded Will for a moment and then decided to take a risk. He brushed Will’s hair back from his forehead, fingers sweeping through until they made their way to the nape of his neck.

Will removed both of their hands from his shoulder and clasped the hand resting on his neck, bringing it to rest at his side. He twined their fingers together and led Hannibal by the hand toward their house. When they were a few yards away, Will stopped to glance back at the heart, framed by vibrant white and red flowers like a demented bride’s bouquet. He could have sworn he saw it pulse a few times, bulging out of the knot in the wood before leaking a steady, dazzling red stream of fresh blood down the front of the dead tree. 


End file.
